A song of Arella Snow
by RAWRmeUNICORN
Summary: Arella Snow is a bastard in the north. She never knew her father and her mother was just raped and murdered during the War of the Five Kings. This is her story of struggle, war, hate, and new found wonder. PLEASE REVIEW! :DD
1. Arella

Arella pinned her jet black hair to the top of her head, letting strands fall effortlessly down her shoulders and braiding them to get the look of the south, even though she never before went south, or anywhere outside of Winterfell.

She worked as a tavern wench at a small tavern at the edge of Winterfell's small kingdom. She used to work with her mother, but she was no longer around, just a rotting corpse under the floor boards of their small home; Arella knew the body made her home smell, but she knew she couldn't live without knowing her mother was near.

Arella hated those Ironborn men that were cluttering Winterfell, raping and killing, drinking all of the good beer and wine. She just wanted them to leave and go back to Pike or where ever they came from. It had been one of those Ironborn men that killed her mother. One with filthy black hair, cropped close to his oddly shaped face; one with small black eyes and a flushed fat face. He had been drunk when he stumbled into the tavern, along with a group of his bad smelling friends. They had touched her thighs and breast when she walked by, but she had ignored them, but her mother would not. She had ordered them out and most of them had gone with angry scoffs, but two of them had stayed, calling her mother a good for nothing whore that needed a good fucking; her mother had retorted with, "When you find a man that can do that for me, tell me, because I don't see any here in this tavern."

One of the two had left laughing, saying he liked a girl with a mouth on her, but the other had grabbed her by the throat and choked her, saying, "Beg for your life, whore."

But her mother didn't beg, she was too strong to beg; so instead she looked him dead in the eye, smiled feebly, and spat in his bloated face.

"You ugly whore, you're going to get it now," he had screamed, pulling at his breeches.

"Stop it! PLEASE!" Arella grabbed the back of his cloak and tried to pull him off her, but all he did was push her away and make her fall into a table, ripping her dress down the front and exposing her breast.

Arella tried to stand, but found she couldn't for there was a peice of glass stuck in her stomach, staining her grey dress crimson red. "Get off my mum! Please just stop!"

She weakly reached for his cloak and saw her blood staining the ground deep red; hearing her mother's whimpers as he tightened his grip on her throat. When he was finally done with her, her dead body fell to the ground with blank black eyes and a purple bruise around her throat.

Arella shook her head and came back to her room in the now, lifting up her skirts and rubbing the scar that remained from that piece of glass.

She sat down on her cot and tried to remember a time when things were safe, when you could go out without worrying about getting hurt. The last time she remembered feeling that way was when Lord Eddard Stark was in Winterfell and Robb hadn't declared himself King in the North. She liked to remember when she, Jeyne, and Sansa would play dolls in the yard, she four years older than they, before Sansa had been old enough to finally understand that Arella wasn't high born but just a bastard child of a tavern wench.

She wondered if Sansa and Jeyne were okay in the south, even though they hadn't spoken to her since Sansa turned eleven and told her she was a whore for laying with Theon Greyjoy in the dark of the night, wearing nothing more than a cloak.

She remembered those nights, before Theon had betrayed the Starks, before he had grown mad with power, when he had held her until they both fell into a deep slumber, and when they had done those things married men and women did.

Perhaps Sansa has been right when she called her a whore, because she was certain the perfect Sansa Stark of Winterfell never laid with the son of a rebel traitor. But Arella also knew she wasn't ashamed of doing those things with Theon, for they were the best nights of her life. She may be a parentless bastard, but she knew Sansa didn't know the feeling of a man touching her, eyes connected with hers as his hands travelled down her body; she was a weak highborn that was going to be Queen and have tons of blonde sons from the seed of her Lannister King. She'd never know true passion, nor would she know, wonder lust, for all of her marital meetings would be planned and set in stone.

Arella looked in her seeing glass and saw her heart shaped face, big electric blue eyes, and the shone of her silky black hair. She pulled her black cloak over her lean shoulders and skipped her long legs out of her room and outside. She walked about in the shadows, not daring to walk around in plain view, because she knew the people of Winterfell weren't allowed to walk about after dark or at all.

She knew her way around the castle, from the many times she and young Arya and played together, after Sansa had begun to shun her. Arya was much more accepting of lowborn people, for she considered herself an outsider in her family and thought she had more in common with lowborn people than high. Arella slipped into a dark corridor and made her way to the room she knew Theon would pick for his own.

When she was in front of his door, she met the eyes of his guards, and the only thing she could do was smile.


	2. Theon

Theon watched as she entered his bedchambers, her hair pinned upward and dwindling braids swaying down her back. He remembered her automatically, not by her looks, but by the way she spoke and the words she uttered.

"Theon, I haven't seen you in a great while, has war made you cruel?"

He smirked at her, watching her sway and stagger about, her wonderful birthing hips causing his smirk to widen even more so, if possible. "War makes everyone cruel; and to you, I'm _Your Grace_, since I'm a prince now, so don't call me Theon."

She smiled down at her dainty little hands, sighing lightly, whispering, "War hasn't just made you cruel, it's made you mad. I remember the way you used to be. You used to care about the Starks; Robb was like a brother to you."

"We were not brothers; I was nothing more than Lord Eddard's prisoner. He's dead now, so I no longer need to listen to the Starks. Why are you here anyhow, to speak down to me as if you are a _highborn lady?_ You are a bastard, nothing more," he stood up and grabbed a flagon of wine, downing it in one gulp. "Your mother is a whore and you're the same."

"_Was."_

"What?"

"She _was _a whore. She is nothing but a corpse now. One of your men raped and killed her. I _know_ you're going to say it's what she deserves, but I know that's not what you truly mean."

She _was_ right.

He had once enjoyed the company of that sharp-tongued tavern wench with long blonde hair and breast bigger than any he ever saw before. She had always slipped him a flagon of wine under the table, since the Starks disapproved of a child drinking so often; she had smiled just as much as he, perhaps even more so, and she always told jests to him that most women wouldn't dare say.

He stood and sauntered over to the fire, looking into the flames as if they might tell him the right thing to say, but no matter how hard he gazed, the flames stayed the same; poppy colored, juddering, and scorching on his skin as he began leaning closer to it.

"She _did_ always have a sharp-tongue; perhaps she said something to him that flared his anger."

"And that makes it alright?" She grabbed the flagon he was reaching for and threw it to the ground, screaming, "I _hate_ you. What caused you to change so much? I was wrong when I said the war made you cruel; it's gone into your bones and deep into your soul, turning your insides black and evil.

"I forgave you for _this," _she waved her arm around chaotically, "But saying it's my mother's fault and not one of your Ironborn fool's is too far!"

Theon grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall, tightening his grip when she didn't seem to be struggling. "I'm not like _you_, bastard. So don't talk to me as if we are the same and equal; you are nothing but a bastard, tavern wench, whore."

"I'm a _whore_ now?" she croaked, kicking his legs as she tugged at his white-knuckled grip. "If….if either….of….us….is a whore….it's… _you."_

He snickered aloud, letting go of her and letting her fall agonizingly to the ground and on the flagon she had thrown. She moaned aloud and grabbed her stomach, for her scar was throbbing from the impact. Arella feebly stood up, both her hands grasping onto her stomach, as tears fell effortlessly from her eyes.

"Theon, you used to be so _kind…_."

He smirked and slowly turned around to meet her eyes; but what he saw made him gasp aloud and run to her side, for without her black cloak obscuring her stomach, he could clearly see her crimson red blood staining her white robe.

"What has happened to you? I didn't do this, did I?"

"Not _you_, but one of your men, that night, the night my mother…"

She started coughing then; frail, pathetic, coughs that made her pale little face flush as red as her blood. She grabbed his gray tunic to try and calm her coughs, but that didn't in the least, it just made her look even weaker.

"What is this?"

She looked into his eyes, her electric blues flickering hysterically as she began shuddering in his arms; she murmured, "It's only….a _scar."_

"This is no scar, Arella, this is a _wound."_


	3. Remembering

Theon shook her limp body, screaming, "Arella! You dumb bastard, wake up!"

He picked her up from the ground and walked her over to his bed, watching her lifeless body drop down more or less, weightlessly, onto the large bed covered in furs; Theon grabbed one of the blankets and covered her up, stroking her hair, and calling for Measter Luwin.

When the old man finally appeared, he scrutinized Theon with weary old eyes; he must have woken the man from his sleep. He didn't care thought, someone needed to help her, _someone._

"Theon, it's the dead of night, you'll need your rest for what is about to come from your enemies…._what have you done to her?"_

The measter lurched to the bedside and pulled the furs off Arella, pressing on her wound, glaring up at Theon with eyes filled with doubt, saying, "Her and her mother were great friends of the Starks' and she considered you a great friend, has every memory left from your mind?"

Theon couldn't take it any longer; he grabbed the old man by his measter chains and screamed, "I wasn't the one that did this to her! It was…._it was…."_

"One of your men?" he asked, looking deep into Theon's shadowed eyes. "Is that what you mean to say?"

"Yes! _Yes_…it is," he leaned onto the wall and felt his knees trembling and sweat coursing down his brow. He looked at Measter Luwin and then quickly to the flames, saying, "Just help her, so she can leave my bed…"

He heard Measter Luwin sigh quietly as he tore her white robe in two, looking at her festered wound that was bleeding completely and entirely all over his bed sheets; he looked at her face, for he was unable to look at that wound without gagging. She looked so weak sprawled out on his bed, her face had nearly gone completely white, save the purple bags that had formed beneath her beautiful blue eyes.

The measter stood up and walked out of the room, murmuring quietly before he left, "She needs bandages and the milk of the poppy, I'll soon return."

Theon sighed heavily and ambled restlessly around his bedchambers, unsure as to what he should do with himself. This was _his_ fault, he knew, he was spoiling all the great relationships he once had. Robb hated him now, the brother he once had….._NO!_ Robb _wasn't _his brother, he had brother's all ready, and they had been killed by that stupid Stark that had been beheaded by that rash Lannister scum that was King of the Seven Kingdoms.

_ But not for long_, Theon thought, staring into the flames when he heard Arella groan heavily behind him.

He stumbled to her, grabbing her hands and looking right in her eyes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, watching with sad eyes as she grunted and grabbed her stomach.

"As if….._you _care," she whimpered inaudibly, gripping onto her stomach and weeping feebly.

Theon smiled weakly at her, not knowing what else to do, since honestly the only thing consistent about him was his smile; no matter what happened that smile could always find a way to appear.

"If I didn't care, would you still be in here cluttering my bedroom? Would I call the Measter in to help you?"

Arella glared at him through heavy black lashes, saying, "Where are Bran and Rickon, Theon?"

"In their bedchambers, where else?" he said simply, shrugging his shoulders and smirking at her as she sat up; her strength was coming back to her.

She stared at the wall, confusion filling her eyes; she murmured, "I just had the strangest dream. I dreamt that Bran and Rickon ran off with Hodor, a wilding girl, and those frog-eating people. That's strange, isn't it?"

"Don't believe in those sorts of dreams, Arella, they mean nothing more than those stupid songs Sansa listens to."

Arella smirked softly, whispering, "But some of those songs are true, Theon…. I mean…._Your grace."_

The door crashed open and Measter Luwin came stumbling in with his bandages and other things. "Ahhh, you've woken Arella, that's a wonderful sight to see. Just let me get you bandage up and you can go back to your mother."

Theon saw Arella's eyes shift downward when he mentioned her mother, and he couldn't help but stroke her hand graciously to calm her forming tears.

The Measter cleaned up the wound and wiped away all the blood. He placed the bandages around her waist to cover the wound wholly until she lay there calmly, with the only remembrance of the blood on her white robe and his sheets.

"Now drink this," he handed her the milk of the poppy, but she refused saying, "I don't need that, Measter, I've gotten wounded many times and I never before needed that, so I don't need that now."

Measter Luwin shrugged his shoulders and patted her back, saying, "I know others from different lands may think it's strange the way the Starks' have threated you, full of grace and kindness, but I'm happy for it. You have taught those Stark children many things men like me don't even know."

Arella smiled up at the old man and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, saying, "And you have taught me many things as well, Measter Luwin, and I'm grateful for those many things, for as you said, in different lands I would be nothing more than a bastard whore in a brothel."

The old man left moments later with a smile on his face. Theon didn't know how Arella could do that; make people so cheerful when things were crashing down around them, but she has always been that way, and perhaps that's why she was more than just a tavern wench he could lay with every now and then, but a friend he has grown beside since the beginning of his imprisonment.

He remembered the first time he met her; it had been a week after Lord Eddard brought him to Winterfell. She had been young then, around six, with short black hair and large blue eyes. She had been a skinny little thing, if he remembered correctly; she had resembled the body build of Arya. She had run over to him, even though the guards had told her not to. She had pushed one guard down and tackled Theon, tickling him chaotically until Lord Eddard pulled her off him, a smile plastered upon his face.

"You're a silly little thing, aren't you?" he had laughed, setting her down, feet away from Theon. She had laughed hysterically and went to go play in the stables with her fellow northern bastard Jon Snow.

"Theon, what are you thinking about?"

He shook his head and came back to the now and met her eyes, saying, "Nothing of great import, Arella."


	4. Gone

Arella awoke in Theon's arms, her stomach sore and her eyes filled with sleep. She fixed her eyes upon his face and saw his were open and staring up at the ceiling.

Arella sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes and yawned, stretching her arms out lazily; she gazed over her shoulder and met Theon's eyes, murmuring, "How long have you been awake?"

"I never slept."

She lay back down beside him and began stroking his bare belly, playing with the little black hairs that grew upon it. She looked up at him again, and said, "Why not?"

He shrugged his shoulders and smirked, staring at the wall as if it may answer for him.

Arella stood up from the bed and grabbed her black cloak, throwing it upon her shoulders and sauntering over to lay a kiss upon his lips, saying cheerfully, "Well, my soft-spoken prince, I must go back to the tavern, because some of us have to work for what we own."

He laughed aloud and grabbed her by the waist, saying, "What is _that_ supposed to mean?

"Well I've never seen you work a day in your life, my _prince_," she scampered out of his grip and gave him a mock curtsy before laughing chaotically out of his door, her black hair flying behind her thin shoulders.

She made her way out of the cold Winterfell castle, her head filled with thoughts of her mother and what she would say if she were still around, but before she knew it, she was stopped by the old but thoughtful, Measter Luwin.

"May I help you Measter?"

He smiled kindly at Arella and pulled her into a corner, his measter chains clattering as he gently crashed into the wall. He met her eyes then and whispered, "Theon still seems to care for you, even though he has seemed to forgotten about everyone else; perhaps you can talk to him and try to make him give the castle back to the Starks?"

Arella narrowed her eyes at Measter Luwin and whispered, "I am no one important, so why would you think he'd listen to me?"

"Because he seems to like you more than anyone else, _that's_ why. I thought you cared for the Starks, Arella? They treated you with nothing but kindness and respect…."

"Measter, stop it now. I know they've treated me kindly, but they're the ones that brought this upon themselves when Lord Eddard took Theon. Did they truly think he wouldn't want vengeance? He was a child when they took him away from his family; when they killed his brothers. I believe Robb would do the same if Theon's father killed both Bran and Rickon, and took him when he was a child to raise him. Vengeance is vengeance, Measter."

"You call this thievery vengeance, Arella? I thought you were special but you're just like your _father…."_

Arella's eyes shot up when he said the word _Father, _a word she never got to use as a child, but he seemed to think she had.

"_Father?_ I don't have a _father."_

The measter nodded nervously and stumbled away from her, saying, "Well…._of course_….I mean…..I _must_ be off."

Suddenly an Ironborn came running past them, yelling chaotically with a spear in hand, "The cripple and boy are gone! THE CRIPPLE AND BOY ARE _GONNNEEEE!"_


	5. Hate

Arella ran outside and into the training yard, in the middle of clatter and shouts, her hair flickering in the chaotic air as she was pushed down by a soldier.

_I have failed you, Starks._

She didn't want to get up, for she knew what awaited if she stood up; the death of the two boys she's watched grow and prosper, no matter how different they each did. She knew most people thought Rickon a wild child with a crazy direwolf, but when she looked at him, she saw a great knight that was brave and bold; when she looked at Bran, she didn't see a cripple boy, but a great lord that might have once wanted to be a knight, but now was clever and good to all people that came to speak to him for help.

But that was all done now, they had left and Theon was going to kill them.

Arella stood up and ran back in the castle, running as fast as she could back to Theon's bedchambers, not caring if she only wore her ripped blood stained robe and black cloak that left her breast exposed; she didn't care if Theon's men stared, she needed to beg for those children.

She slammed open the door and met Theon's eyes, seeing the anger that filled his.

"Please Theon…please have mercy, they are only children…_p-please_. Oh old gods and the new, please, please, please Theon, for all the love you have for me, don't kill those boys."

Theon took one look at her and snickered; he looked at two of his men and said, "Get this bastard out of here and send her back to where she belongs."

They smirked widely at Theon as they pulled her out of his bedchambers. She kicked her legs and screamed, trying to hit his evil face and make him remember. She had been wrong; he shouldn't hurt them for vengeance, he should hurt his father, he had been the one that started the rebellion that killed his sons and made his youngest be taken by Lord Eddard.

"Theon, you are a horrible little bitch! I hate you! I _HATE _YOOOUUUU!"

They took Arella down by a pond; wicked smiles on their faces as they ripped her robe completely off and tore her cloak off her shoulders. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the goose pimples that were spreading all over her body.

"We're going to give it to you like your mother got it."

Arella thought of different things as the first man entered her forcefully.

She thought of the dolls she and Sansa used to play with each other; she thought of the way she and Jon used to play in the stables together; she thought of Arya and the way she used to pull faces at her when no one else was looking so everyone would think Arella was mad when she'd laugh hysterically out of nowhere.

She thought of her mother.

She thought of her smile and the clever things she would always say to highborn lords as well as low. She could have smiled thinking of the smirk her mother would get when she would show her the different ways she and Sansa tried doing their hair; saying, "That's what young girls are doing with their hair now? Well it's…._different."_

_ "Look at me, whore!"_

Arella opened her eyes and stared up at the man's face; his ugly, fat, face. He was grunting vigorously as he went in and out of her, groaning and grumbling as he went faster and faster. She could feel tears falling from her bright blue eyes, her lower parts feeling as if they were wrenching apart, pulling and pulling apart painfully.

When he was done, he past her over to the other man, and he did just the same things; Arella stared up at the sky and the falling snow, feeling them fall on her face, enjoying the bitter winter snow as it cooled her.

When he finished, they left her there and she lay there for a while, wanting nothing more than to just dissolve into the earth and never see this place again.


	6. Blue eyes, Black hair

Theon found her by the pond, curled into a ball, her lips the palest color of purple and her skin abnormally white, like the snow that surrounded her and frosted her fingertips. He watched with solemn dark eyes as she gave soft trembles, weeping and making weak little sounds as the cold took over her naked body.

He couldn't just leave her here, that would be cruel, and he liked to think of himself as having a little bit of kindness left in him, even if he wanted to make his ironborn father like him, and ironborns took what they wanted.

He picked her up and sauntered back to his bedchambers; he lay her down on his bed and covered her in furs; he threw his cloak over his shoulders and closed his door gently, knowing he needed to find the two Stark boys that held the fate of whether his father loved him in the balance.

* * *

She had a dream of Theon, and the way he used to be before he went back home to Pyke.

He used to practice in the yard with his bow, stringing arrows and smiling at her when she'd run by, chasing after the much younger Arya.

When they would go under the covers together in the dark of the night, he would touch her body with callused filled fingers, from the rough use of his bow. He'd kiss her body and whisper in her ear things he would never say to anyone else, only her. She remembered the first night they had done those things; her first time. He had set her down on his bed and gently took off her clothing, smiling as she shyly covered her breast.

"What are you trying to hide?" he whispered, kissing her cheek tenderly. "I've seen you this way before, so what's to hide?"

She giggled softly and covered her face, whispering, "It's different now, I was only a child in the bath house when you looked at me nude. I have a…_women's _body now…it seems."

He snickered quietly as he slowly brought his fingers down in between her thighs, through her mound of silky black hair, kissing her neck as he began to shift his fingers in and out of her. She laid her face on his shoulder, moaning softly, moving into his hand, not knowing what to say or do, so she just moaned and closed her eyes.

He suddenly stopped and she groaned in protest, glaring into his eyes, whispering, "Why did you stop?"

He smirked wickedly at her, leaning forward and planting a kiss upon her pursed lips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down so he hovered above her.

"Theon…get it over with…my mom said it'd hurt. Just do it."

He pressed his body down upon her, her face burrowed into his shoulder, biting onto her bottom lip until she could swear it was bleeding into her mouth, filling as Theon began pressing his manhood against her slit. She began breathing hoarsely as he slowly entered her, moving leisurely with a wide spread smirk on his face as she moaned and tilted her head back on the pillows, biting her lips fiercely, from the pain she was feeling as he moved more, but soon the pain went away and she was feeling something new; a feeling that felt like sparks threw out her body inflaming and sending waves of bliss through out her body. She lifted her hips into his, whimpering aloud as the feelings she was began feeling started building up and becoming to much to handle.

He laughed aloud and brought his fingers down between her thigh. She didn't know what he was doing, but whatever it was, it felt better than anything she'd ever done before, and she felt her muscles turn to jelly and she sighed gently; moments later he planted his seed in her, laying atop her lazily.

But then the dream changed she was by the pond, the men pushing inside her roughly. When she saw their faces, they resembled Theon, and they both bore his terrible smirk. They grabbed the back of her neck and forced her face in the pond, the water entering her body and ending the movements in her lungs.

She woke then, covered in sweat and screaming, covered in thick furs but still she trembled. She gripped onto them and covered her face as she began to sob, her bright blue eyes burning from the salty tears.

The door of the room opened and in the doorway stood Measter Luwin, his wrinkled face solemn, but not a gentle solemn, but a one that masked the angry he wanted to scream about.

He closed the door behind him and sauntered to her bedside, looking at her with sad old eyes. "They entered the forest hours ago, in search of the boys. I begged him to be merciful and he said he'd consider, I hope he will if he finds them."

Arella sighed hoarsely, whispering, "I was wrong, this isn't vengeance any longer, it's plan cruelty. Those boys are innocent and naive to what happened to Theon. They had no part in that war, so they shouldn't be punished."

The measter nodded sadly, stroking his chains without an expression on his face, "He said Lord Stark killed his brothers, so he should kill them; that it was only fair."

Arella stared at the wall, wondering what they had saw over the many years they sheltered the lords and ladys of the Stark House, what they had heard and what sort of cruelty they had witness.

"Who is my father?" she whispered out of the blue, staring at the wall without caring if he heard her or not.

The old man sighed heavily, whispering, "Look at your features Arella. They did no come from your mother, for she had pale hair and dark eyes, while you have dark black hair and bright blue eyes. Only one House has those features in package, and they are a high house at that. Arella Snow, you are the bastard of Robert Baratheon."


	7. Prayers

It'd been two days since Arella last spoke to Theon.

Two days since she found out who her father was.

Two days since they found out Ser Rodrick and his men were on their way.

She knew Theon would be beheaded first once Robb got back; or maybe he'd be tortured, for he had murdered both the Stark boys.

Arella had cried all night after seeing their bodies; she had to hold her breath to hold back the tears when she met Theon's eyes when he showed the bodies to all of Winterfell. He had looked so smug, but in his eyes, she could see fear and guilt. She wanted him to feel something worse than guilt...she wanted him to _care..._and mourn.

She knew when the northmen came, they'd call her a traitor; she had bedded Theon and those Ironmen had used her as one uses a whore. They'd keep her in the dungeons until Robb came back to the North, and when he finally arrived, he'd behead her, for the Starks don't hide behind paid executioners; they did the deed themselves.

She wondered if the Starks' would mourn after her once she was gone.

Probably not. It was war, and in war people die. She was nothing more than a bastard..._a bastard of a king_...she heard a small voice in the back of her head whisper. She shook her head and continued walking through the godswood, where she sat to pray. Arella believed in the old, nameless, gods, and in truth, she also believed in the Seven. She knew that was strange, but she could never be certain as to which would give her more hope.

She looked up at the heart tree and felt a tear fall from her brilliant blue eyes.

_This is folly, you should be packing and hiding, ready to flee once the northmen arrive._

Arella stood and stroked the heart tree, whispering a gentle prayer before sauntering back to her room, where when she walked in, she could smell her mother. Her nostrils flared but she dealt with it and grabbed a bag and began throwing clothes inside, not caring if they wrinkled.

When she was finished, she decided she'd go to Catelyn's sept; the one built just for her gods.

She went to stand by the Mother, looking up at her. She was smiling down upon Arella with a loving smile that made Arella's insides turn with fear of the men that were on their way.

"Mother, may they have mercy upon Theon and I. He only wanted his father to love him..." Arella frowned; she didn't know why she still cared it Theon was treated well, he had hurt her and killed two children she had grew up beside, and she should want him to be hurt and killed as they had been.

Arella began to sing then; she and Sansa would often sing together when they were younger.

"_Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray. Stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day," _Arella felt tears fall from her eyes as she held her knees to her chest. _"Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray. Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way."_

Arella stood and fled to her bedroom where she sobbed and held herself, trying not to see Bran and Rickon's bodies in her mind's eyes.


	8. The North Remembers

Arella was woken by the sounds of chaos; shouts, crashing, screams, and everything she knew meant battle. Her mother warned her that battle would be coming their way one day or another. She'd murmured quietly of the things that would happen when war was upon their doorstep and the things that would happen to the women, and she'd been right, as she always was.

She scampered out of her bedroom and to a window where she peered outward and saw the remaining Ironmen marching together around Theon. Some left after a moment and Theon smiled weakly and continued to speak to the men. Arella walked away from the window and back into her bedroom. She sauntered numbly to her seeing glass and glared at her image. She remembered the warnings her mother had told her, the things she would have to do to survive.

_Cut your hair, and wear clothing that is too big for your figure, _her mother said as she brushed her daughters long, silky, black hair, whispering words genteelly in her ear._ They won't even think of saying you're a girl, just look at Jon, he's just as pretty as you. _

She remembered laughing at that jest, but now she couldn't even smirk at it.

Arella grabbed a knife and took a chunk of her hair in her hands and began slashing, not caring how uneven it was after it fell leisurely right under her ears; she continued to cut, until the only remembrance of her beautiful hair lay on the ground in a hump black. She tore off her clothes and went in search of the clothing mother hid just for a moment like this; he mother had always known what would happen in the end after Robb announced himself King in the North, she had always known...

She found the loose brown breeches and baggy grey tunic and pulled them both on as quickly as she could. She tied what she had to and threw a black cloak over her shoulders, and pulling on her boots last. They were bigger than her own feet, and very uncomfortable, but she didn't care at the moment. She walked back over to her seeing glass and when she looked in the mirror, she saw not herself, but a boy of the north, that had big blue eyes and a head of choppy black hair that went into his eyes and scattered about everywhere lazily. She knew if she stood up straight they would see her breast, so her slouched and walked around carefully, looking in the mirror at her image to make sure her breast didn't show when she inhaled; thankfully, they didn't.

Arella knew she couldn't use her own name, that would be foolish. She thought for a moment of a name that would fit her, and smiled wickedly when it came to her.

Eddard Snow, would be her name, and she'd try and be as brave and honorable as Lord Eddard himself once was.

She looked at herself once more before walking back to the window and watching as Beth, Ser Rodrick's daughter screamed as they wrapped a rope around her neck. Arella hissed at them, hating them all. She heard her mother's voice in the back of her head, the image of her mother brushing her hair in her mind. She watched as her mother leaned closer to her ear and whispered quietly, _we are of the North Arella, and the North remembers, so no matter what happens, just remember no matter who holds Winterfell, you are followers of the Starks, from now until our deaths.  
_

Arella sighed heavily and nodded, whispering, "You will pay for what you did to the North, no matter if I die."


	9. Burn it all

Arella was waiting inside her home until she hears the gates opening once again and ran over to the window and saw more men charged inside; she watched as one walked up to Theon directly and they began to talk. She inhaled hoarsely and sauntered out of the front door and sulked about in the shadows, watching carefully for any sign of someone that might see her; thankfully, no one noticed when she joined the rest of the group.

She closed her eyes and wondered if anyone was looking at her and noticing if she was a girl. She inhaled yet again and opened her eyes, slouched her shoulders and watched the events in front of her ensue.

"She was what was promised," she heard Theon say in his proud tone; she could hear the confusion behind it.

"She smells of dogshit. I've had enough of bad smells, as it happens. I think I'll have your bedwarmer instead," for a brief second, Arella thought he spoke of her, but that thought vanished away when he continued to speak. "What do you call her? Kyra?"

Arella felt her body stiffen and scowled. _So he was bedding other women._...Arella didn't know why she was shocked, since Theon had always been that way. She glared at him and exhaled angrily, watching as Theon's face twisted in anger.

"Are you mad?" He said angrily. "I'll have you-"

That's when the man raise up his weapon and brought it down upon Theon's cheekbone, hearing a dull shattering sound as he feel to the ground. She held in her gasp by biting down upon her lip; she felt blood begin to flow into her mouth and she could have cared less. But before she knew it, battle began and everyone had their swords, crossbows, and any other weapon they had handy out and were fighting.

Arella kicked a man she knew for an Ironborn in the groin and watched as he fell down to the ground; she grabbed his sword and when she knew she had a good grip on it, she drove it down into his neck. Blood splutter from his lips and she quickly pulled the sword out and began slashing the air as men charged around her.

She killed two before hiding inside the shadow, where she watched as the men killed each other without even second glancing who it was they ended. She looked around and saw that nearly all the Ironmen were dying at the hands of the new people. She wondered if they were northmen, or just rebels trying to take over Winterfell and become lords themselves.

Abruptly, a group of men surrounded her and had their swords pointed her way.

"You're a pretty boy, aren't you?" one of them said, pressing the sword right in her belly, right above the bandages that wrapped around her wound. "I wouldn't mind bending you over and giving it to you in the arse.."

The other men nodded in agreement and began to stride near her, but she had enough of men thinking they could do as they pleased with her, because they couldn't. Arella lifted her sword and placed it roughly right in one of their bellies. She pulled it out and slashed another's throat and another in the cheek. She was left eye-to-eye with the last and he was smirking her way, lifting his rusted sword as if he had a chance.

Arella knew she'd win this battle, for she was trained by Ser Rodrick at night when no lords could judge her. She'd grip onto her wooden sword and slash at the air, Ser Rodrick smiling at her as she grew stronger and better. Arella came back to the now and found herself smiling widely, hitting the man right in the rib. She watched as he groaned, but he didn't fall. He slashed at her and she dodged carefully, smiling at him.

"I'm gon wreck that pretty face of yours, boy!" he grunted, plunging his sword at her, cursing when she twirled out of the way and cut his chest, blood falling from the wound slowly. She jumped out of another one of his slashes and drove the sword into his side, twisting the sword and leisurely pulling it out, and smirking at him as he fell to the ground, lifeless.

There were less men then, but just as much chaos. She watched as Measter Luwin came out, running towards Theon, when a knight on a warhorse placed a spear between his shoulders and swung around and ran him over. Arella bit her tongue to quiet a scream and forced her tears back, when a man only feet away from her whipped a torch round and round his head and them threw it toward the roofs of the stables.

_"Save the Freys!" _the leader screamed as flames began to spread. "_And burn the rest. Burn it, burn it all." _

Arella followed the remaining men and forced her tears to leave her be. She tried to think of other things; to try and forget her mother's corpse beneath her floorboards, her clothes, and all the other things she used to hold dear. She looked at the castle she used to roam as a child with the Stark children she hasn't seen in such a great long time, and watched as it went up in flames, as if it were nothing._  
_


	10. Baratheon Bastard

When their journey ended and they were finally at the Dreadfort, Arella didn't know how many of them knew she was a girl.

She thought none, but she could never be certain, for every now and then she'd catch one of the men staring at her, but when they met eyes, they'd either growl or quickly look away. She wondered what they were thinking, if they wanted _her..._the dark haired girl looked up at the strong fortress suddenly; it had high walls and triangular merlons.

She wondered how long it had been around.

Once she heard people saying they held torture chambers still and a special room for the flayed skins of their enemies.

_I shall have a room like that for you, Theon._

Arella spent most of her time alone, avoiding any sort of conversation, and making her water only when everyone else was asleep. She decided a fortnight after they were there, that she would steal a horse, go south, and look for Sansa and Arya, and all her other old friends. She would save them, for she knew she could, because she was strong and knew how to fight. If she was smart, and she knew she was, she would even get some people to help her, perhaps whatever northmen she could find that would help her. But she knew that was unlikely, with this war. Everyone just wanted to be safe, not burden themselves for highborn children that didn't really matter to them.

But they mattered to Arella, for they were the only family she had left.

That night, when everyone else was asleep, Arella snuck of in the darkness to steal a horse, but was stopped by the Bastad of Bolton, or so that was what everyone else called him. He was cruel, she knew, and he wasn't dumb. So around him, she would have to be smart and snicky.

"Where are you going?" he hissed angrily, circling her, eying her with a cold look in his pale eyes.

Arella's back stiffened up and she stared ahead, not meeting his eyes, "Off to make my water, my lord."

He looked her up and down and waved ahead, even though he was still in front of her. He smirked and said, "Make your water then. Right there."

Arella felt her eyes filling with tears and her stomach flipping about crazily. She began to undo her breeches when Ramsay grabbed the back of her neck, murmuring to her, "I never saw you with my group before. Who are you?"

"I am a bastard of Robert Baratheon and a tavern wench," She said shakily, staring at the tree in front of her. She could feel her legs shaking and her vision just the same, wondering if the Bastard of Bolton would rape her then flay her, as he did other girls, or would he rape her then kill her, and lastly flay her.

She wanted none of that.

He let go of her neck and flipped her around, staring into her eyes, the paleness of his stilling her brilliant blues, making her freeze in place, all but her shaky knees.

"A Baratheon bastard, are you?" he grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. He roughly pushed her face from one side to the other, and then he stroked her cheek with his nail, breaking skin. He ripped apart her tunic and found a breast and smirked at her, saying, "A Baratheon _girl."_


	11. Memories of the North

Arella looked up into his cold pale eyes and blinked once before kicking him in the groin and then once in the face. She smiled down once at his coiled body and then began running toward the horses.

She was faster than the bastard and by the time he was standing and running after her, she already had a black stallion and was riding south, to find the only family she had left. She wondered if they would recognize her without her long, flowing, ebon hair; without her hand-me-down gowns that were from Lady Catelyn, who was only a little larger than her in the breast area, but still fit her well enough; and lastly without a smile on her face.

The bastard was running behind her on a horse; she could hear him.

She wouldn't let him scare her. If he did catch up, she'd kill him as easily as she killed those other men, and if she _did_ die, at least maybe she'd see her mother, Measter Luwin, Ser Rodrick, and even Lord Eddard. She wondered if she would get to see Lyanna. She had heard many stories about Lyanna from both Lord Eddard and her mother; her mother once told her that Arya was a lot like Lyanna...always rebelling and acting up.

She had replied with "But Arya wasn't as beautiful, because I heard Lyanna was a great beauty, that even Rheagar Targaryen wanted her and her hand was the reason for Robert's Rebellion."

"Well that's just not true. Lyanna looks more like Arya than any of the other Stark children look like their father or mother, well, accept Jon, he looks like a Stark, even though he is forced to be called a Snow. But that's just fine, because I love Snows."

Arella ran down one of the men that had woken and stood before her, and she ran down the next, leaving the rest to fearful to move.

"I will skin _you_ and give your stupid whore corpse to the dogs!" she heard Ramsay scream after her as she found a fair enough road and forced the beautiful black stallion to ride harder, even though he was tired. Arella knew she could ride as long as the horse was alive; she was a skilled rider. She just worried that Ramsay was as skilled as she.

She knew they'd been riding for hours with her leading when the sun began to rise far off in the distance and her horse began to weaken beneath her and she could faintly hear Ramsay falling farther and farther behind, breathing hoarsely. They had passed many things and even gone through the waters of the Weeping Water in which the Dreadfort lay.

"You can't ride forever, _Bastard!"_ she shouted behind her shoulder, pressing on harder when she heard him groan angrily.

She had to distract herself or she would weaken and if she weakened that meant her life and any hope of saving Arya and Sansa.

She tried remembering things that happened when she was young, before the King..._my father, _she thought, came to Winterfell. She remembered faintly playing through out the castle, running after Jon when they were younger, only nine if she remembered correctly. They were both bastards and they both knew they didn't really belong where they were, in the place in which the Starks' resigned, but had the kindness of the Starks that most Bastards didn't have from their Lords.

Jon was laughing at her when she fell and tears began to fill in her eyes.

He abruptly stopped laughing and walked over to her and touched her skinned knee and frowned, looking up into her eyes and whispering, "Will you be okay?"

She nodded and knocked him down, tickling his belly and watching proudly as he began to laugh so hard tears filled his eyes.

The rest of the memory she couldn't recall so she began to think of the times she and Sansa used to try on dresses and play with each others hair.

"Your hair is prettier than mine," Sansa murmured, running her comb through Arella's long black hair, beginning to braid it.

Arella laughed aloud and replied, "Your hair color is prettier."

Sansa giggled and whispered her thanks and finished braiding Arella's hair before she sat down on her bed and ordered Arella to sit beside her and play with some of her many dolls. Sansa's favorite was a porcelain one with black painted straw hair and a blue gown; she didn't like it when Arella touched it without asking.

"She looks a lot like you," she smiled, placing the doll beside Arella's face and nodding like a nice little highborn lady did when she was happy. "She should be yours."

Sansa placed the doll in Arella's lap and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, whispering, "Don't tell Jeyne I gave it to you, she'll have a fit and spoil everything, like she always does."

The image in her mind changed to one of Arya, standing in her doorway, wearing boy's breeches and a loose fitting tunic. In her right hand she held a skinny little sword she said Jon gave to named Needle. She showed both sides to Arella and smiled proudly up at the older girl.

"Nobody knows about it, so don't tell...you think you could show me how to use it when we get back home," she asked, putting the sword down on Arella's bed, sitting down beside it. "I know about Ser Rodrick teaching you how to use a sword and I know he'll never teach me and Jon is leaving and no one else will want to..."

_"Arya!_" Arella laughed, putting her hand over the small girl's mouth, laughing when she licked it. "Sure I'll teach you. Only if you promise me something."

"What?" Arya asked happily, her face happier than she'd ever saw it before.

Arella stood up and picked up the girl and twirled her around and around, laughing as she set her down and she stumbled. When they were both done laughing and were settled down, Arella whispered, "Come back to me, okay? Don't ever forget the North."

"How could I ever forget the North, you silly bastard?"

The image changed once more and before her was Jon, standing tall and proud, in all black and the snow falling leisurely upon his black hair. He was leaving, as nearly all of them were, but the only difference was that he wasn't going to come back. He was going to go to that stupid Wall and leave her forever and forget her; leave her alone with all these highborn lovely people that weren't like her.

"Why are you going to that silly ice Wall?" she whispered, not able to meet his eyes because if she did, she'd cry and wouldn't be able to stop them from falling and falling. "Why are you leaving?"

He looked off into the distance and murmured, "I'm to be a man of the Night's Watch and protect the realm."

"Please don't go, Jon, don't leave," she grabbed his hand and held it for a moment, squeezing it, when he pulled back, placing his hand under her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes, that were so beautiful and reminded her a the sky before a storm.

"Arella, I have to leave. You'll be fine, everything will be okay. My father will return when he can and so will the girls. Everything will be normal again soon enough and you won't even remember the bastard that was in the background at all times."

"Is that why you're leaving me, Jon," she murmured hoarsely, her tears finally falling free. "Because you're always in the background? You're my best friend Jon. Do you know how much I _love _you?"

Jon pulled her in and hugged her for a long moment, kissing her forehead before leaning back and saying, "I love you too, Arella. I will never forget you and when I take my Oath, I promise you even then, I won't forget you."

And that's when she heard him stop dead behind her, the Bastard of Bolton, defeated . "I will find you soon enough, girl, and I will have that bastard cunt of yours and then your skin."

"Sure you will!" She laughed, hoping he was wrong and she would never have to look into those evil pale eyes of his.

* * *

_**Sorry for so much Jon and Arella action...lol...**_

_**review and tell me if I did well :DD  
**_


	12. Prisoner

She rode for days upon days when she finally couldn't ride anymore. When she weakly jumped off the horse, she fell down upon her knees and saw that her breeches were torn and bloody, her thighs sore, and her head pounding. The horse was weak too, that was easy enough to see. They both needed rest, and luckily there was an inn not so far awaY.

She stopped in front of the small inn that lay beside a pond and told them she didn't have anything to give them, but that she would work for as long as she stayed there. The dark-haired innkeep told her since the war started, less and less started to come and she didn't care if she paid or not, that she was just happy to see another person beside her husband.

When Arella was in her room, she crashed down upon the hard bed and fell to sleep right when her head felt the softness of the pillows. She woke up hours later in the dark of the night to the sound of footsteps outside her door.

_"The girl's in there. She 'int got no coin 't give."_

_"We don't want her coin, we want her."  
_

Arella looked around the room for any place to hide and was left staring at the window. The inn only had one floor and if she jumped out, she wouldn't get hurt, but there was no telling who could be out there, waiting for her. She had to risk it. She gentle pulled open the window and jumped out and stumbled quietly toward the place she had tied her horse. Arella got upon the stallion's back and kicked her into movement when she heard a shout from behind her and the pain of the whip as it wrapped about her neck.

"No one runs away from Ramsay," she heard the man whisper as he threw her over his shoulder and sauntered toward his own horse, but not before he placed his dagger to the neck of the black stallion she had rode.

She woke up in darkness, a pain coursing through out her legs and up into her heart that was pounding painfully against her chest. She tried standing up, but whenever she moved, she felt the chill of the shackles that were wrapped about her ankles and neck.

_I have lost. I will save no one. I am a useless bastard._

* * *

_**Sorry for such a short chapter. Had to go quickly.**  
_


	13. Life

It was dark now. No torch, no sunlight pouring through, nothing to make her feel safe.

She knew she would be dead before the sun rose, and she would never save Arya and Sansa, of saving taking them away from that place. But she knew deep down, in the hindmost corners of her mind, that she really wouldn't have been able to save them, that she would have been slain by one of the gold cloaks and never even get the chance to see Sansa or Arya.

She should have just hid in Winterfell and wait for these people to leave, but she had been foolish and arrogant. She had honestly thought she would be able to just cut her hair and but on different clothes, that anyone would truly believe her to be a man. She should have stayed.

Arella heard shuffling somewhere in the darkness of the cells, close by, and the smell of blood.

"Hello? Who is out there?" She whispers, narrowing her eyes and looking around, trying to see properly but only seeing the shape of a man in chains, as she was. "Tell me your name, please, I wish to know who I am to die beside."

There was a moment of silence, a hoarse sigh, and then the voice she thought she'd never hear again; "Theon. My name is Theon," he murmurs weakly, coughing chaotically for a moment then saying, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Arella didn't know what to say. She had wanted to kill him only an hour before, and thought she could and do it without guilt, but as she heard him cough and sigh weakly, she knew he was getting something far worst than anything she could ever think a person to have done to them. She felt tears well in her eyes and her body tremble. She wanted to know the truth. To know why. To understand.

"Why..._why_ did you kill Bran and Rickon," she wept quietly, waiting for his voice.

He sighed and muttered, "I never killed the Stark boys. They fled...and I found something different to put before you all."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you wouldn't listen. You hate me."

Arella tried wiping away her tears, but her arms wouldn't reach her face so she was left sticky and feeling stupid. "I thought I hated you, but here I am, weeping stupidly."

"You're not stupid," he coughs; she could hear blood splattering quietly from his lips. "I'm sorry I set you away with those men...I know what they did...you didn't deserve that."

She smiled weakly and felt more tears escaping her.

"Theon, if I die tonight, I want you to know I love you, and I'm happy I with you before my death."

That's when the dungeon doors opened and a guard unchained her and roughly began dragging her to her death. But somehow, she wasn't scared. She wasn't even sad. Her mother would be waiting and they would finally be together again. She would see all the people she once loved again, and she'd wait for all the others to come to them. She'd be with Theon soon enough too, she just hoped he wasn't scared, but as brave as she felt when the guard presented her to Ramsay Snow.

She smiled at him and promised herself she wouldn't scream, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

She died after the raping and flaying, and she had kept the promise she had given herself; she had died thinking of her mother and Theon, Theon who she had once loved, then hated, then loved once again.


End file.
